


Divine Reciprocity

by allllllllthethings



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Filavandrel's Lute, Gen, God!Jaskier, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25938937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allllllllthethings/pseuds/allllllllthethings
Summary: The Most Joyful One, God of Happiness and Plenty, repays a debt.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 190





	Divine Reciprocity

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I'd suffer hell if you'd tell me (what you'd do to me tonight)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061353) by [Bouncey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncey/pseuds/Bouncey). 



"Filavandrel," said a voice, softly, musically.

The king of elves turned instantly, not having heard anyone come up behind him. And yet sitting at the mouth of the cave he'd just come out of was a human. In fact...

"Have I seen you before?"

"Yes. You gave me a kingly gift." He smiled beatifically, and Filavandrel remembered the annoying human who'd trailed the White Wolf. He still wasn't entirely sure why he'd given his lute away to him. Mostly to shut him up, he supposed. This one looked… _exactly_ the same as he had. 

"Was that not over fifty years ago, now?"

"It was," the probably-not-human-after-all grinned, like he'd just told a horrid pun and was waiting for his audience's groan. 

The king of elves was not going to fall into whatever trap this was. He schooled himself into politeness, saying, "If I may ask, what manner of being are you?"

"Of course you may ask! I will even answer, just for you. I arrived with the Conjunction of the Spheres; I have only ever been a god to men, not any of the elder folk. I do not fault you for not knowing me." More easy smiles and languid blinks. Filavandrel's mind worked uselessly for a few moments. The - apparently - actual god continued, still casual. "I've been more popular as of late, and I thought I might have something with which to repay you for your earlier kindness. Would you accept it?"

What does one say to that? He couldn't refuse, this being had no reason to rein in his temper if it flared. Then again, he couldn't imply he felt anything was owed to him, for the same reason. What would the gift be? How much would a god want to give a mortal for a musical instrument given to a beaten prisoner? He tried the safest answer he could think of: "I would be honored to accept your generosity."

The air shimmered a little, bells on the wind. "Excellent! Your people have scraped a living off of these rocks for far too long," said the god, and for a moment Filavandrel dared to hope - but no, the smile shrank and softened as the explanation came. "The humans living on your old lands have been there for too long; it is all the home many of them have ever known, and I will not force them out.

But I am a harvest god. Every day, humans break bread in my honor, and I have been saving my strength for years that I might do this for you, as thanks for your actions and apology for theirs. You need no longer steal nor starve. Treat the home you have now well, and you will have the ease to build the golden palaces the humans believe you to have."

As he spoke, the wind picked up, Chaos turning its many eyes in their direction. As he finished, the air stilled, the mountain holding its breath. The god stepped closer to the elf-king, holding him gently by the chin. Filavandrel dared not move. His visitor breathed out, what appeared to be dandelion seeds coming out of his mouth, over the elf's face, floating away down the barren slopes, tucking themselves into cracks in the stone.

Nothing happened for a long moment, and then the god breathed in. The whole mountain exploded with life, grasses and mosses and shrubbery, strange plants not even Filavandrel had ever seen before.

"I give you all the life these mountains now sustain. Feed your herds on the grass, make your bread from the grain, take all you need from this earth. I will forbid my humans from intruding here."

Filavandrel stared in wonder, saying, "Thank you, Your Radiance, I had not hoped for any gift so grand as this."

"That is not my customary form of address, but I appreciate the sentiment."

"What is customary? Who may I tell my people has done this for us?"

The grin, the breeze, and the far-off bells returned. "I am Jaskier, the Joyful One, God of Happiness and Plenty. My worshipers tend to refer to me as their Master, and address me as their Lord, though I've spent enough time pretending to be human I rarely insist on ceremony."

The elf-king returned his smile, bowing again. "Thank you, Joyful One. You have not been a god for elves before, but you are now, if you would have us."

Jaskier laughed then, full and melodious, and there was neither malice nor rejection in it. Filavandrel would hardly have cared if there were; at that moment he would have given anything to make his Joyful One laugh again. "It appears it is your turn to surprise with your generosity. I will follow your example, then, and graciously accept. If you ever wish to do something for me, give a gift or throw a party in my name. Shared happiness is the truest and most sacred form.

You will see me again, Filavandrel."

With that, the Joyful One turned and danced down the newly-green mountainside, singing and chattering to himself. The king of elves sat heavily, collecting himself before finding a way to explain this miracle to his people.

**Author's Note:**

> This has nothing to do with its author's opinions on the return of Indigenous land, which Cintra's relationship with elves definitely evokes. Jaskier is doing what he feels is right for the people for whom he feels responsible.


End file.
